LIGHTFOOT ON A BOAT
The park where Lightfoot, the leaping goat, had worked with Mike for
several weeks, giving rides to children, was quite a large one. There
were many paths in it, and driveways. There were also patches of woods,
and places where the bushes grew in tangled clumps, making many hiding
places.
“I’d better hide myself for a while,” thought Lightfoot, for, though he
was a tame goat, he still had in him some of the wildness that is in
all animals, even your pussy cat; and this wildness made him want to
hide when he thought himself in danger. And the danger Lightfoot feared
was that he would be beaten with a stick for knocking over the boy who
had tormented him.
“I’ll hide under these thick bushes,” said the goat to himself, when
he had run quite a distance from the stand in the park where the small
wagons were kept.
The bushes were thick, but with his strong head and horns Lightfoot
soon poked a way for himself into the very middle of them, and there he
lay down upon the ground to rest. For he had run fast and was tired.
His heart was beating very hard.
Though he did not know it, Lightfoot had done just as a wild goat would
have done――one that lived in a far-off country who had never seen a
wagon, a harness or a squatter’s shanty. He had hidden himself away
from danger.
And, with beating heart, as he crouched under the bush, Lightfoot
wondered what he would do next.
“I can’t go back to the park and help Mike with the wagon, giving the
children rides,” thought Lightfoot. “If I do that boy with the stick
will be waiting for me. He’ll be angry at me for knocking him down.
That little girl wasn’t mad at me for knocking her off the trolley
tracks; but then that was different, I guess. And maybe Mike will be
angry with me too. I’ll be sorry for that.
“He won’t give me any more lumps of salt, nor sweet carrots. I won’t
see Blackie again, nor Grandpa Bumper. I’ll never jump around on the
rocks any more and see the Sharp-horns. Well, it can’t be helped, I
suppose. I must do the best I can. I’ll stay here for a while and see
what happens.”
So Lightfoot remained in hiding, and when Mike had finished getting his
little lunch in the restaurant he came back to reharness his goat to
the wagon, ready to give the children rides in the afternoon.
“Why, where’s Lightfoot?” asked Mike in surprise, as he came back and
saw the broken rope where he had tied his pet. “Where’s my goat?”
“How should I know?” asked Henry in a cross sort of voice. “He butted
me over on my back a little while ago.”
“You must have done something to make him do that,” quickly cried Mike.
He looked at the end of the broken rope. At first he thought Henry
might have cut it on purpose to let Lightfoot get away, but the ends of
the rope, frayed and rough, showed that it had not been cut, but broken.
“Have any of you seen Lightfoot?” asked Mike of the other boys. But
they had all been to dinner themselves and had not seen what had
happened. The other goats, too, had been taken to the stable for the
noon meal.
Only Henry had seen Lightfoot run away, and he felt so unkindly toward
the goat and Mike that he would not tell. Mike ran here and there,
asking the park policemen and other helpers if they had seen his goat,
but none had. Lightfoot had taken just the best possible time to run
away――noon, when every one was at dinner. And now the goat was safely
hidden in the bushes.
“Well, I’ve just got to find him,” said Mike to himself, as he looked
at the goat’s harness hanging on a tree, and at the wagon with its
strip of bright red carpet. “I’ve just got to find Lightfoot!”
Telling Mr. Marshall what had happened, and promising to come back with
Lightfoot as soon as he could find him, and take up again the work of
giving children rides in the park, Mike set off to find his pet.
Along the paths, cutting across the grassy lawns, looking under clumps
of bushes, asking those he met, Mike went on and on looking for
Lightfoot. Now and then he stopped, to call the goat’s name. But though
once Lightfoot, from where he was hiding, heard his master’s voice he
did not bleat in answer, as he had always done before.
“He is looking for me to whip me,” thought Lightfoot, “and I am not
going to be whipped!”
Poor Lightfoot! If he had known that Mike would not whip him, but would
have petted him, and given him something nice to eat, the goat might
have come out from the bush where he was hiding and have trotted up to
Mike. Had Lightfoot done this he would have saved himself much trouble.
But then, of course, he would not have had so many adventures about
which I will tell you.
After calling and looking for Lightfoot, even very near the bush under
which the goat was hidden, but never suspecting his pet was there, Mike
walked farther on. He had not given up the search, but now he was far
from the place where Lightfoot was hiding.
Lightfoot stayed under the bushes and listened. He did not hear any
one coming toward him, and he began to think he was now safe. He was
beginning to feel a bit hungry again, so he reached out and nibbled
some of the leaves.
“My! That tastes good!” he said to himself. “It’s better even than the
grass that grows on top of the rocks at home.”
Then, all of a sudden, Lightfoot felt homesick. He thought of the fun
he had had with Blackie and the other goats, and he wanted to go back
to them.
“I think I’ll do that,” he said. “Maybe, after all, Mike will not let
that other boy beat me. But I’ll wait until after dark.”
The sun sank down in the west. The children and their nurses went home
from the park. The goats and wagons were taken to the stable. Mike
came back from his search.
“Well, did you find your goat?” asked Mr. Marshall.
Mike shook his head sadly.
“No, I didn’t,” he answered. “But I’ll look again to-morrow.”
“If you don’t find him pretty soon,” went on the man, “I’ll have to get
another goat and wagon.”
Mike felt sadder than ever at this for he knew the money he had been
able to earn with Lightfoot was much needed at home. And it was with a
sorrowful heart that Mike told his mother what had happened.
“Never mind, Mike me darlin’,” said the good Irish woman. “Maybe
Lightfoot will come back to us some day.”
At dark Lightfoot crept out from under the bush. The lights were
sparkling in the park, and he thought he could easily find his way back
to Shanty-town. Mike had driven him from there to the park and back
many times.
But the darkness, even though there were lights here and there,
bothered Lightfoot. He soon became lost. He did not know which way
he was going. Once, as he crossed a green lawn in the park he saw,
standing under a lamp, a policeman with a club. Lightfoot did not know
what a policeman was but he knew what a club was used for――to beat
goats.
“But he sha’n’t beat me,” thought Lightfoot, so he kept in the shadows
and got safely past. On and on he wandered, trying to find his way back
to the rocks where he had spent so many happy months. But he could not
find them, and at last he became so tired that he crawled under some
bushes and went to sleep.
It was morning when Lightfoot awakened. He found he was in a strange
place. It was a place of many streets and with big cars running back
and forth on shining rails. But they did not run as did trolley cars.
Instead a big engine pushed them and pulled them. Though Lightfoot did
not know it, he was near a railroad yard.
He came out from under the bush to look for something to eat. He saw
an empty can with a piece of paper on it that he knew was covered with
paste. He wanted that paper very much. But as he crept out to get it a
boy picking up coal from the tracks saw him and cried:
“Oh, fellers! Look at de goat! Let’s chase him!”
And chase after Lightfoot they did, shouting and throwing lumps of
coal. Lightfoot had no mind to be caught, so he ran across the tracks.
The boys shouted at him, the men in the railroad yard yelled at him,
and when he crossed the tracks the engines tooted their whistles at
him. Altogether Lightfoot was very much frightened.
On and on he ran. Some of the boys were getting closer now, for
Lightfoot could not run over the shiny rails as easily as they.
“I’m going to get that goat!” cried the boy who had first seen
Lightfoot.
Lightfoot heard the boy’s shout, though he did not understand the
words. The goat knew he must run faster and faster, and he did. He came
to a place near the line of the railroad tracks where he could see
some water. He knew what water was, for he drank it, and also, when it
rained hard, there was a little pond and a stream that formed on top of
the big rocks, so he was used to seeing large puddles.
Lightfoot ran close to this water. The boys, racing after him, saw, and
one cried:
“Oh, de goat’s goin’ t’ swim!”
But Lightfoot was not going to do that. He was only looking for a
good place to hide. Pretty soon he saw it. Floating on the water was
something that looked like a little house. Smoke was coming from a
stovepipe in the roof, and beyond the house, and seeming to be a part
of it, were two big, long black holes.
“Those holes would make a good place to hide,” thought Lightfoot.
He ran up alongside of them and looked down. There was nothing in
them, and no one was in sight. The boys chasing after him were behind
some freight cars just then and could not see the goat.
“I’ll hide down there,” said Lightfoot to himself. “It isn’t as far to
jump as it was from the top of the rocks to the roof of the shanty.
I’ll hide there.”
Down into the dark hole, near the funny little house, leaped Lightfoot.
And where do you suppose he was now?
He was down in the bottom of a canal boat, down in the big hole, in the
hold, as it is called, next to the cabin, or little house. In the hold,
though it was empty now, is loaded the cargo the boat carries――hay,
grain or coal.
For the first time in his life Lightfoot was on a boat.